Spelunking

Find a piece of paper and a pair of scissors.
Fold the paper in half, width-wise.
Cut a square into the fold just a little bigger than one of your eyes.
Unfold. Hold in front of your face.
See the world through your new pair of glasses: 
Only what is visible 
Through this rectangle.

This is your subject. 

Now, you may travel the world
To gain a new perspective

Or you can stay home, practice spelunking.
And when your child comes to you and announces
Their path is not your path
Says, thank you for everything, but I don’t want any of it.
Except this one thing,

Take your viewfinder.
Focus on your child’s heart’s desire
Something you know nothing about
Something you thought was for other people,
Not your sort
Something that frightens you, even;

Consider this desire: this is your new subject.

Do not ask, “What are the future consequences for civilization 
should we allow
Blah Blah Blah…”

Do not ask, “Why would you ever want that?”

Simply turn your viewfinder onto your child
Soften your eyes, the skin around your mouth

And say, “Tell me more. I want to know all about it.”

For the month of November, I write a poem a day to support the efforts of the Center for New Americans. Please support my efforts by contributing to this wonderful organization via my pledge page.